


the waiting game

by daiikon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daiikon/pseuds/daiikon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo is in love and Bokuto is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the waiting game

**Author's Note:**

> I love bokuroo I swear I do.

Bokuto kisses tenderly at first, feathery light ones trailing across bare, prominent collarbones. It’s slow and patient and indulgent even, so unlike his usual excitable persona, but Bokuto laughs a little when Kuroo gets impatient and squeezes his arms in response, a silent urging to go faster and stop taking his sweet time pampering his body with every needless caress.  _Okay,_ Bokuto readily complies. After all, he likes nothing more than to please. Just to prove his point, Kuroo returns the favour by pressing soft kisses down Bokuto’s throat, skillfully turning it into gentle nips of flesh when he reaches the crook of the neck, each bite leaving unspoken words of affection and longing and...  
  
Bokuto tilts his head back as Kuroo swirls his tongue against the reddening skin where he just laid his mark, sensually dragging it up the other’s neck by the tip and only stopping halfway to suck teasingly on his adam’s apple, pleased at the small, vibrating hum Bokuto makes as he does so. Slowly, he licks a thick wet strip under the jaw before pulling away, allowing himself to take a brief glimpse into familiar golden eyes.   
  
It’s not particularly bright or shining during these times; half-lidded orbs moreso glossy and distant,  _so distant_ , and although they’re looking at each other right now, he knows that Bokuto isn’t truly searching for him through his own dim, glazed ones.  _It’s okay though_ , Kuroo covers Bokuto’s eyes with the palm of his hand, leaning up to capture pliant lips into his own.  _It’s okay_ , because he’ll take what he can get.   
  
“Hey…” Bokuto’s voice is wary and speaks volumes of uncertainty when he senses something off, very much like it had the first time they fell into this messed up routine. It's a looped feedback system with no inhibition – an addiction, something in which they both couldn’t –  _wouldn't_  – be able to break free from no matter how vehemently their conscious would reject it.  
  
_it's wrong. it's wrong. this is all wrong._  
  
But caution is thrown into the wind.   
  
Even in that sense, however, there exist thinly veiled boundaries to draw the line. So, when Bokuto starts to slip from his fleeting high, Kuroo would simply distract him with another kiss and reassure him again and again that this was nothing more than just a temporary escape.  
  
_There's no other reason_ Kuroo would lie, and if Bokuto was ever skeptical, the infused pleasure from the flurry of kisses over sweat-stained skin and the heated, jagged thrusts into aching bodies made the other male stop thinking about everything and anything at all.   
  
Bokuto tells him he looks good like this – twisting underneath him on the bedsheets, an appealing shade of red coloring his flushed cheeks. Bokuto tells him how he loves the quiet moans that involuntarily slip through Kuroo’s tongue, all muffled by an onslaught of kisses that steal away his breath and drown out words Kuroo isn't allowed to say: _(love me. love me. because I love you)_. The pretty sounds are incited with each languid roll of his hips and Bokuto coaxes for more, blissfully burying himself deeper and deeper into him.   
  
It's fine. It's okay. Those eyes don’t need to shine because of him – not at him, not  _for_  him. Kuroo doesn’t have the capability to spark it into a beautiful glimmer of passion, not in the way it does when volleyball engulfs Bokuto’s entire being, when he’s in his rightful element playing his heart out in front of people who adore his skill, his energy, his smile – his everything.   
  
(not in the way during every match, amidst the cheering of the crowd and the roaring applause, Bokuto’s eyes would be latched onto someone else).   
  
Because Kuroo was fully aware of that fact, there was nothing he could do but wait until he’s no longer needed as that secondhand support – serving as gravity when he's soaring too far away; catching him when he's free-falling from uncertainty. When things get overwhelming, too much to bear alone – then it's only human, Kuroo reasons, to look for a safety net. But then again, this is nothing more than a double-edge sword against lust-endowed satisfaction and the warmth pooling within his chest, the one that comes with the innocent handholding during the day and the playful, secretive kisses at night – (it tiptoes dangerously near that implicit boundary line, but he can't help it. _he can't_.).  
  
Still. Either option ends up with him being stabbed 'till his heart bleeds out and it's funny, Kuroo thinks, how he's not sure what would hurt less – giving up on something that was never meant to be, or never really knowing if the _maybe's_  and _whatif's_ in his foolish fantasies could ever come true.   
  
Kuroo tries not to dwell on it for too long, figuring he'll deal with the troublesome aftermath later when it comes to pass. Until then, he'll allow himself to be selfish just a little longer.   
  
Often Kuroo would fend off his intrusive thoughts with better, happier ones. Of waterfights and movie marathons, ramen dates and competitive practice matches. He smiles at the memory of sunsets and piggy back rides, of laughter and adventure. 

“Mhn...” Bokuto turns groggily around in his drowsy state, opting for a more comfortable position to sleep in. They're completely spent for the night, exhausted but sated and cleaned off from any evidence of sex just hours ago. This round ran far longer than they both intended it to be (and maybe it's mostly Kuroo’s fault for dragging it out so long), but Bokuto doesn't seem to mind. Kuroo makes room for Bokuto to rest his head on his chest while he curls into him – an old retained habit if anything. It’s also a habitual sort of thing when Kuroo finds himself brushing Bokuto’s bangs to the side before planting a small, chaste kiss on his forehead and whispering a quiet ‘ _good night, you dork'_. Bokuto coos in his dreams, murmuring a name that wasn’t his own; the sting that came with it wasn’t unfamiliar either, Kuroo muses bitterly.  
  
With a wistful sigh, Kuroo takes a moment to hold the other even closer and waits. He waits until he could only hear the minute-hand of the clock ticking through its glass, the faint sound of water droplets dripping down the sink’s faucet, and the slow, steady breaths Bokuto takes as he drifts into a deep slumber. 

_a little longer._

The hand that was holding Bokuto’s waist gently slides up with the intention to card through messy hair. Along the way Kuroo's fingertips lightly brushed against the marring of skin that littered down Bokuto’s neck and across toned, broad shoulders. Absentmindedly, he's tracing the jagged dips, realizing they were his bitemarks and –

Kuroo freezes, abruptly stopping himself from going any further.

It hurts again, his head or his chest and maybe both, he doesn't know. All that clouds his mind right now is this disgusting feeling of resentment and guilt, when he's suddenly aware of the stupidity of marking what he could never keep. It wasn't a match for him to win, no matter how desperate he was for each point.  

_just a little longer._

Kuroo takes one last glance at the other male in his arms before shutting his own eyes, gradually exhaling a strained breath he didn't realize he was holding in. It's then, at that solemn moment, Kuroo resolves to wait. He’ll wait until the bitemarks all fade away, wait until the ugly red splotches are gone and long forgotten, wait until he can look the other in the eye without greedily desiring anything in return. He’ll  _wait_ and  _wait_  and perhaps if he waited long enough, the pounding of his heart would eventually turn into nothing more than just a simple dull ache. 


End file.
